An Act of Contrition
by SeriousSubwayFlirting
Summary: At the eleventh hour, Atton seeks redemption at Malachor. One shot. DSF!Exile.


**An Act of Contrition**

Did you know the first time she kissed me was before we even got to Telos? We were alone, in the cockpit, barely knew each other, barely knew each others' names. And she kissed me, and I felt drawn to her like I never have to another person before. She let me take it further, right there, on the control panel, and I'm surprised the damn ship didn't crash. The button-shaped bruises on her backside became a private joke between us later, the kind that made me think that we were perfect together.

I loved her, do you know that? I really did. I did for such a long time, until she slipped up. She showed me something I wasn't meant to see. That there's no light inside of anyone, just people with their backs to the door, feet sliding in futility as they try to hold back the darkness.

I'll admit, I opened my own door, long ago. And Revan held it ajar for a while. And maybe afterwards, I wanted to close it but wasn't strong enough. But she did something worse. She took to it and pulled it off its hinges, broke it into pieces, and now it will never close again.

I knew I was going to do this a long time ago. I knew it the night I crawled into her bed, and it felt wrong, smelt wrong. The way the sheets were already damp and she tasted different, tasted like you. I didn't say anything, because she's a liar.

The first time I noticed was after she found that Jedi on Nar Shaddaa. She'd killed him, but claimed self-defence. She had no choice, he attacked her. It's not like anyone else had been there, we couldn't argue with her. But a few weeks later, she was drunk and couldn't stop bragging about how easy it had been, and I could see in her eyes how much she'd enjoyed it. Frag, I've never managed to make her look that happy. I bet you haven't either.

She doesn't even try that hard to hide it most of the time. She killed that Miraluka in cold blood while she was sleeping in the medbay, having already surrendered. I didn't think anything of it then. I might have done the same. But eventually, everything started to piece together.

So that's why I didn't ask her. Because she's a liar, and she would have lied. Because pulling the truth out of her is like trying to get your creds back from some squirrely cheating Rodian at a pazaak table. Like trying to get a Wookiee to wipe his big, hairy feet before he comes inside. Getting a word from her that's not a falsehood or a half-truth is harder than having a linear conversation with a Voss or doing business with a Hutt without getting shafted. It's impossible; a pointless exercise in frustration. Time better spent drinking and trying to forget that blasted smell, that revolting taste, your salty sweat on her sheets. So I didn't ask, but I didn't have to. I knew it was you and that was what hurt the most. Don't get me wrong, with standards like hers, she'd probably go for it with freaking Hanharr if he was even slightly receptive to it, so I guess it doesn't mean anything, but still.

When I look into your eyes, I can't figure out if you think I've betrayed you. Do you, Blondie? Have I? Who knows? Who even cares, Blondie? But if you need something more from me, here's this: while I'm looking, while I'm holding your head up as you take your last breath, I realise something. You're no less a fool than I, and you fell for her stupid lies just the same as I did. But before I get a chance to wonder if I've made a mistake, your eyes turn to glass and the chance for regret is gone, and that fleeting thought is the closest thing to an apology you're ever going to eke out of me.

I stand, and your body is wilted and bloody on the floor and there's nothing of you left.

That's funny because there's nothing left of me, either. But I've got time for one last thing, one attempt at redemption. One last desperate act of contrition. I hope she's in the mood for company because her and I are going down together, whether she wants to or not. Her undoing will be how little she thinks of me. I know I'm right when I finally find her and she doesn't give a second thought to why I'm here. She's killed Kreia, and she's carrying on as if she's lost her own mother but it's all an act.

I embrace her, and she falls into me. I can tell from the puzzled look on her face as her head turns that she only just barely feels it when I slide that needle into her back. I can almost feel her thinking, almost feel the Somatoll moving through her and starting to cloud her thoughts. That's what I always used in the past, you know. For Jedi. They think they're so invincible, unbeatable, strong, and in a lot of ways they are. But there's not much you can do about a dart loaded up with sedatives slamming into your neck, now is there? Just like there's not much she can do about my impromptu spinal tap.

I can tell when she gets it. That's right, princess. I might be stupid Atton Rand, to you, just a fool, but once I was Jaq and I broke pretty little Jedi faces like yours just for fun, just because I could. And I'm going to break yours, too, because you deserve it more than any of them. Because I don't know how else to save you. Because I don't know how else to protect you. Because I don't know how else to love you.

It's all over her face when she realises it's too late to stop it. I wonder if it occurs to her that had she bothered to save the others, maybe they could have saved her now. I bet they would have. Bao-Dur, especially. Bet he ploughed her too but I don't really care, anymore. I let it go because it's almost over and jealousy is a burden I can't be bothered carrying anymore. Her dead weight in my arms is enough to break my back as it is. She looks at me with big, wet eyes that have never truly known love or sorrow or forgiveness, and I look back at her with all those things and for once in my useless life, I mean them. And it's kind of funny, because I never could have felt any of those in the first place, without her. She taught me how to feel something by refusing to do so herself.

It's kind of funny.

It's_ all_ kind of funny, really, so I throw my head back and laugh and she just stares back, eyelids getting heavier and heavier until she can't hold them up any longer.

I know what she sent Bao-Dur to do, and I know she won't open her eyes again until it's too late to leave. So I sit here, and she's limp against my torso, and I stroke her hair and pretend she is everything I thought she was when she walked through that door, all underwear and plasma torches and promise. And eventually, that bastard of a zabrak comes through, and the planet starts to swallow itself and the pull is enough to stir her, but it's too late. There are cracks the size of my thigh in the walls, there's powdered plaster in our hair, and it's too late, Surik. You used and abused and broke every person you crossed paths with and now it's just us, and it's too late.

It's too late, it's too late, it's too late.

Give up.

I don't care if you don't want me. You're mine now.

You're stuck with me.

The world turns inside out, and it gulps down the stars and the moon and sets everything ablaze. The tremendous drag crushes her just like it should have the first time, but I never let her go. And it's just so very, very funny, even if it hurts to laugh, because through all my failings and weaknesses, through all of hers, finally, I've found a way. I've found a way; I have atoned.


End file.
